A Dance
by remembernaoko
Summary: She had red leather shoes. Gendry had never seen shoes like that before.


Summary: She had red leather shoes. Gendry had never seen shoes like that before.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_**A Dance**_

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She had red leather shoes. Gendry had never seen shoes like that before.

"I got them in Tyrosh, idiot."

That he believed. From what Gendry heard, Essos was filled with strange garb and customs. The way Thoros went on about it when he was drunk was enough to get Gendry thinking that the whole lot lived in bright jewels and bold silks.

The leather on Arya's pair of red shoes was worn, though. They were small shoes, fit for her feet, and dirty with the edges torn and frayed. Arya had been miles in them, he knew.

"They're too thin for the Wall," he scolded, dipping a sword into the cool water.

"I don't care. They're easier to get about in," she scoffed with her feet dangling from the edge of his cot.

"Aye, you don't care. Do as you please. There's no use in trying to convince you of anything, stubborn as you are."

Her grey eyes narrowed. "You're the stubborn one."

Gendry couldn't help but smirk. Setting his work down on the bench, he walked over to the cot where she lay. He pushed her forward into the cot, sitting on the edge with her legs in his lap. Gingerly, he stroked her calves, and moved down towards her feet. The leather was softer to touch than it looked. When he glanced over to see her face, Arya had her eyes closed. She seemed pleased.

"Like that, do you?"

Her feet kicked his chest in response. Gendry laughed and held them to his chest.

"Let them go," she said, wriggling, but he was too strong.

"No, I won't. You have nice legs. I think I'll keep them right here. "

"I don't care what you think."

Gendry just pressed kisses to her knees to stop her squirming. It worked. The tension eased from her lower half as he pressed kisses along her knees and up to her thighs. Lips brushed against the rough, thick wool of her breeches.

The only noises that filled the air were Arya's hitched breaths, the crackling fire, and the howling of winter.

One of his large, calloused hands rubbed her thighs as he began to kiss her warm inner thighs. The other was unlacing the ties of her breeches.

This was all the much they could do. Arya couldn't risk her maidenhood or a bastard, and Gendry couldn't risk the head on his shoulders.

He reached up to pull down the breeches were the laces were untied, and pulled them down her thighs.

"My shoes," Arya whispered in a sweet tone he only heard when she was very pleased.

"Right, I forgot." Gendry said as he moved to remove her shoes, the red leather slipping off her tiny feet with ease.

"I think my mum used to sing a song about red shoes," he recalled, throwing the shoes onto the cold stone floor, "these shoes a girl wore after her love or her mother, I don't remember, gave her. Then whoever gave them died, and she danced in them until she would forget-until she would die."

"What happened?"

"She died."

"That's a stupid song."

"People sang it in Flea Bottom."

"I bet you don't remember it properly," Arya sneered, but Gendry ignored her as he pulled off the breeches from her feet.

Her legs were pale as snow (with a red glow by the fire's light), muscled, and the skin was soft to the touch. Gendry bent over to slip his hands under thighs, his head fixed between her legs.

There had been times, he remembered, when he was working at the Crossroad, and he'd stare at the fires in the forge. Thoros could see visions that the Lord of Light willed him to see. Gendry wondered if he could see visions as well. _If I believed hard enough_.

R'hllor was a true god. He knew that much when he saw Lord Beric reborn, and he knew for certain when Lady Stark came back from death. Any little act can be a prayer, it was said. So, he forged steel in the fires. There was never speak of Arya's body, and the word around the Riverlands was that the Bastard of Bolton was to marry Arya Stark.

Those were times when he'd try to see into the fires. As if the blazes and sparks coming from the flames could true him what he truly desired, what he truly wanted. He wanted to be a knight. He wanted to be bigger than a servant. He wanted to have a family. He wanted to be someone's hero.

But the world was ablaze and falling apart before his eyes.

Arya never did come into his flames, or any vision for that matter. Thoros did not seem so different from any ordinary man, he prayed for the lord to forgive his own follies and sins nightly, so why did no visions come to him? Why did no prayer ever go answered? The Seven did even less listening, though. All the Seven did for him was leave him a bastard without a mother while he fought other boys for scraps of food Flea Bottom. Where had been the Crone's wisdom, the Mother's mercy, the Father's judgment then? And bugger the Smith. For all the good the Smith ever did him.

Yet, he wondered if the Lord of Light heard his at least one of his prayers.

Arya lived.

Her moan was about the most satisfying sound he had ever heard in his life. She writhed wantonly as he pressed wet kisses to her cunt, licking up and down her entrance, with her pleasure marking his beard, certainly. Food was growing scare these days, but a taste of Arya could make him forget his hunger.

Hands gripped his head as he fucked her with his tongue, in and out, until he moved up towards her tense flesh that could bring Arya to a peak. There he sucked and pushed until she stilled before him, her foot digging into his lower back. Gendry pressed kisses a long her soft inner thighs as he began to unlace his breeches.

"That wasn't too bad," Arya sighed out, looking thoroughly content while biting her lips.

"I'm glad you think so, m'lady."

"Shut up."

Gendry pulled off his boots with his breeches soon following before he scooted up the squeaking cot to lay pressed against Arya.

Arya nibbled his lips, and then proceeded to nuzzle his bearded jaw. She then sat up and crawled over to his bottom half.

The glows from the flames colored her face a shady of red. Almost as red as the old red shoes that lay on the floor of the forge.

Arya's eyes focused on his own as she took him into her hand. He was already hard and leaking by the time she finished upon his tongue.

Her small, soft hand moved deftly up his shaft, causing Gendry to hiss and shut his eyes.

The colors exploded within the darkness of his closed eyes as he felt her little wet mouth on his cock's head. Her hand's movements became more aggressive and faster as she licked along the head.

Gendry couldn't suppress a groan when she gave him a squeeze and took him into her mouth. He breathed hard as she drew him, but he managed to reach over and stroke the dark braid that hung from her shoulder. Arya's hair was thick and coarse. Just as he liked it.

The noises she was might have been obscene to others, but Gendry thought they were sweetest things he ever heard.

Her tongue and lips moved on him like a graceful dance. Gendry opened his eyes to watch, mesmerized by the sight.

But the tension built up in his core, and he spilled into her mouth, hips bucking madly.

"Arya—fuck," choked out Gendry with his eyes shutting again as the shots of pleasure went through him at once.

The soft weight of Arya's body pressed against him, and he wrapped his arm around her. Gendry stroked up and down her skinny arms while she buried her face into his neck.

"Sansa used to sing that song. It's not only from Flea Bottom," she murmured

"Yeah?"

Arya hummed. "Her father gave her the shoes. And she didn't die. She just…stopped dancing."

That didn't sound right to him.

"I believe you."

The fire burned lower into the night.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. I appreciate it. Any feedback would be great.


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